


Tangibility

by lightningwaltz



Category: Messiah Project - All Media Types
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Yuuri isn't in the fic but he's very present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 04:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6839425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"We can’t really talk like this and I want to hear you.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Mamoru and Takano spend a night together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangibility

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Celtic_Knot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celtic_Knot/gifts).



> Celtic_Knot, you're one of the coolest people I know and apparently I reward that by throwing angst at you.

The club’s rowdiness is almost a tangible thing. The further Mamoru drifts into the establishment, the more the noise scratches against his skin. Crushes his throat. Nothing is actually happening, but it feels like it. Maybe this is an end result of helping construct Kaito’s alternate realities. Maybe he’s doing that sort of thing in other spaces, as well. 

All the surfaces have trendy and modern angles, and the clean floor somehow feels sticky with years of spilled drinks. The floor swarms with dancing bodies, and they seem more like a wave bouncing along to the beat. Carefully contained chaos. This bar is one of those places with laser lights carving through the air, making everyone’s hair look blue or green. At one point he stares into them, and then he shuts his eyes to watch the floating bright spots. There’s something restful about them.

Mamoru fishes out his cell phone, hoping to find a message saying that all the guys had decided not to come after all. Or maybe they’ll say that Mamoru was too late. But there’s nothing. Maybe that’s a good thing. Sometimes the ecstatic relief of canceled plans ends up keeping him awake all night.

Then he looks up and sees Takano at the bar. The music dims, unrelated conversations flatten into white noise, and he stops worrying about whether someone will stomp on his foot. 

Takano is dressed in gray, still, even though the work hours are done. This isn’t his uniform, even. The muted color turns him into a sort of serene beacon in this intensely illuminated place. So Mamoru moves through the energetic cliques, and a sea of legs and elbows. He doesn’t end up jostling or bumping into a single person. No one is doing it consciously, but it’s like this crowd is a sea that’s parting before him. Like the universe is colluding to fling him at Takano.

_No. Stop that._ It’s magical thinking, and Mamoru has more than his fill of that. His and others. 

He’s headed toward Takano because he chose this path.

Mamoru settles in at the bar. Takano doesn’t seem to recognize him at first. Understandable. This is their first time hanging out outside of the office. The first time seeing outside of work uniform, and work etiquette.

When he sees Mamoru, though, Takano makes that stupidly appealing smile. 

“So, no one else came. They all bailed on me. Apparently migraines are catching.” Takano grins like one who’s already forgiven the lie. 

“Well, _I’m_ here.”

“So you are.” 

Mamoru could have gotten out of this. He could have escaped having to pretend at being sociable and rambunctious. He’s allowed to be a hermit on today of all days. 

Maybe his dismay is also another inexplicably physical thing. Takano is looking at him like Mamoru’s melancholy has reached out and poked him in the rib. Mamoru tries to smile, but it’s probably not as convincing as Takano’s.

“I _definitely_ should buy you a drink,” Takano says, at last. He’s almost solemn about it, even though the smile remains fixed in place. The air is warm, and it’s hard to tell if the bar is overheated, or if it’s from the accumulation of bodies. At least he’s not alone in this; Takano’s perspiration melted his carefully shaped hairstyle. Mamoru decides Takano looks good either way.

“A drink, huh?” he says, flipping through the drink menu anyway (even though, really, people should just know what they want from the start.) The plastic pages crackle a bit, and he avoids looking at any drink that mentions that beach. Not those. Not ever. “That’s nice of you. What did I do to deserve that?”

“You showed up when you said you would.” Takano says, still smiling. “And you stuck around. At least for a little bit.” 

Paying attention to the words, he’s not being praised for very much. However, Takano’s warmth is almost unbelievably generous. Mamoru doesn’t recognize himself in that.

They order round, after round, after round. Mamoru starts paying for most of the drinks, because he’s the one insisting on them. Takano doesn’t slur his words, and very little changes in his demeanor. He just smiles a lot more. The room is spinning around and Mamoru finds that that grin keeps him grounded. It doesn’t much matter what music is playing. Genre, lyrics, beat… Who cares? He sways into it, makes up some words, and decides that every note sounds beautiful, when it’s this deep in his bones.

It’s even better when Takano has to balance a hand on Mamoru’s shoulder just to keep himself steady. Mamoru doesn’t know what he, personally, is doing. Though it’s like there’s lead in his muscles, and he also might float away. His cheeks sting, so he must have been laughing a lot. 

He’s probably too old to be acting like this, but Mamoru has been old for a long time.

“You’re like someone who’s drinking to forget.” Takano has to yell this. The music has kicked up a few more decibels, somehow, even though that shouldn’t be possible. 

Takano might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water over Mamoru. It’s the same sensation he gets whenever Kaito has something new to share about Haruto. It’s the same sensation he gets whenever Mamoru has to help shade in the details of that hallucination. Quite often, he’s tempted to join Kaito in this happier world, and that might be the most reckless thing of all. 

He sways in even closer to Takano, and now there are hands on both of Mamoru’s shoulders. Maybe he’s been wrong all this time about Takano needing support to hold himself up. Maybe he’s the one supporting Mamoru.

“No, it’s the opposite.” Mamoru is grateful that the music gives him an excuse to yell. It’s a close enough sound to the scream that’s always threatening to surge free. “I’m drinking because I _don’t want to forget_.” 

Right now he has to carry the memory for two people; him and Kaito. There’s no telling whether it’s the right choice. But it is _a_ choice, and he is living with it. 

Someday Kaito will rediscover the truth. He’ll find himself in a world that has marched into a colder future. He will need someone at his side who has always had an exacting memory of what came before and after. Memory is Mamoru’s most sacred responsibility. 

The music gets even louder, somehow, but Takano doesn’t cringe. The two of them are close enough to kiss, Mamoru realizes. 

Takano pulls away, slowly, carefully, and signals that he wants to close his tab.

“Come back with me. I’m just a block away. We can’t really talk like this and I want to hear you.”

It distracts Mamoru all the way to Takano’s apartment. He knows he should be wondering about other things. Like whether this is just a semi-elaborate ruse to hit on him.

Instead, the phrase rings through his head to the same beat as the music in the club. Long after they’ve left it. 

_I want to hear you._

*

It feels like Takano has just moved in, even though there are no packing boxes in sight. Everything has a slight nomadic aura. Takano’s apartment also mostly smells like laundry. This is a strange thing because Mamoru is sure he’s mentioned going to laundromats before. Maybe he got a raise and can afford a better place? Or maybe some people are just clean in some inherent and ineffable way. Unblemished by all the blood and tragedy they touch. 

(It’s not like Kaito’s place, that’s for sure. Given the situation, one would be forgiven for expecting rancid aromas there. Instead it smells like nothing. Absolutely nothing. Kaito actually cleans a lot, especially on days when he worries about overheating his computer and gives it a rest. But there’s no hint of soap or bleach, even after all of that. The whole area has the scents of a fantasy or daydream. Sometimes you think you pick up on something, but then it’s gone just as fast.)

Takano shuts the door, fumbling a little with the chain that locks it. 

“Sorry, I just realized I don’t have a lot to eat.” 

Mamoru just breaths in everything about this solidly wholesome place. He fights back the impulse to twist his hands around. To feel the air slide over his skin like cotton. Alcohol is coursing through his head and joints, and he’s wrapped up in a blanket of iridescent light.

“It’s fine. It’s nice here.”

Takano had taken him to his apartment. Takano had taken Mamoru to his _home._ Was this is all an elaborate preamble to sex? Mamoru is pretty sure he hopes it will be. But he also hopes for a glass of water to spontaneously materialize, and he wants to dance now that they’re away from the music. So it’s all a bit complicated, isn’t it?

Takano gets them some beer and pulls out various snacks. Mamoru looks at all the colorful packaging and hardly knows where to start. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Mamoru settles on some crackers. He snaps one in half and regrets it. Now there are crumbs on his shirt. The deafening aura of peace dilutes his quixotic mood. Now he’s basically himself again, and being himself takes exertion. That would be fine on other days. It would be fine on other nights with less alcohol in his system. He’s pretty good at hiding his moods. Now, though, just the right nudge would make his anxiety obvious, even as he would scramble to hide it. 

And that’s the first rule or any talent, right? Always make it seem effortless.

“Nothing in particular. Anything you want,” Takano shrugs a shoulder, clearly trying to seem casual.

Oh, but he is definitely curious. His interest is as tangible as the heat and noise of the club. Things are a little less blurry, and Mamoru notices things. He notices Takano staring at his lips and hands. He notices how Takano seems to hang on his every word. 

So he wants to know everything about Mamoru then. That’s tough; Confessions don’t come easy. Mamoru has apprehended criminals that hid razors and needles under their tongue. To harm others or themselves. Haruto’s death anniversary lurks in his mouth just like that. He doesn’t want to blurt it out now, with his face still red from drinking. He doesn’t want to cry about it, either, and he knows he will if he says it in this exact moment.

“Well, what do you want?” Mamoru gulps down some beer, but he’s also interested in witnessing Takano’s opening strike. 

_What will you do?_

Takano doesn’t force anything. They end up meandering through a conversation that they’d have no time for at work. Discussions about pop culture, and the city, and ideal places to travel. Mamoru still imagines things like shrapnel behind his lips, but it’s like all this lighthearted talking smooths it out. Makes it no more threatening than sea glass.

“Thanks for coming back with me,” Takano says during a lull. Their plates and cups are empty. 

“You keep saying things like that.” Mamoru wonders what would happen if he reached for Takano’s hand. 

“Well, yeah. I used to have a lot of nights like this, but so much anymore. Sometimes it’s like my whole life is work. And I like my work, don’t get me wrong. But I miss having friends around, too, and a lot of things make that hard at our age.” 

_Friends._

Being called that makes Mamoru happier than it should, even though he wonders if Takano is the type to apply that word to everyone who smiles back at him. Actually, if he is like that, it just makes him more endearing, somehow. People who give freely of their spirits- even after being harmed- are minor miracles. 

Mamoru is also a little nauseous. The truth might be blade in his mouth, but friendship is the knife in heart. 

Which weapon should he choose tonight?

“One of my friends actually died. Years ago. Today’s the anniversary of that.” 

Takano starts, just a little, but it’s obvious he’s been expecting to hear something like this for a while now. “Do you want to talk about it?”

There’s an instinctive need to say no. Shout it. Scream it. Haruto’s been dead for almost as long as he was in Mamoru’s life. He can’t escape it, either. He and Kaito never talk about it, of course, but a phantom follows them. 

“Yeah, I did.” Mamoru pauses, as he realizes just how true that is. “I _did._ But it’s a bad idea. No one really knows about it. None of the people I have around me. I don’t know how to bring up the subject….”

Not even Kaito knows about it. For him, the death anniversary is always a normal day. Mamoru must have been a little obvious about his distress, today, because Kaito had fretted over Mamoru a lot. Told him that his new job was working him too hard. 

Still… Maybe Kaito’s subconscious knew. Maybe it had been reminding him. His fantasies about Haruto had been so vociferous, so elaborate, that it was like he was trying to convince himself. Like the illusion was wavering even for him.

Or maybe imagining hints of lucidity happened to be _Mamoru’s_ hope. _Mamoru’s_ delusion.

“You just did. Bring it up, I mean,” Takano says, now. 

“Yeah. Sorry.” Mamoru wonders if he can discreetly wipe his eyes. 

Takano puts his hand on Mamoru’s shoulder. Supporting him again. “No, no. I just mean, you told me, and I don’t think I’ve proved you right about it being a bad idea. I hope not. It’s okay that you’re sad about it.” 

That’s also true. “Yeah. I’m still sad about it.” He sounds dull. Drier than the toast they ate. But it’s not like embellishment lends emotional clarity. Mamoru attempts a self-deprecating laugh, but he sounds like there’s dust in his throat. “That’s really all there is to it, in some ways. I’m just so sad. Some days I want to yell until I feel normal again.”

“Yelling constantly might hurt your vocal cords.”

Now Mamoru laughs for real, albeit weakly. 

“Seriously, though, if you want to walk me through what happened... Go ahead.” 

Mamoru does. He leaves out certain identifying details, and he doesn’t share Kaito’s condition. Instead, he reconstructs that day for Takano. The hopeful trip to the beach. The greedy, grasping tidal wave, the agonized waiting at the shoreline for rescuers to come back. 

He leaves out how he’s still waiting. 

They’d never found Haruto’s body, you see. His bones- if they still exist- are more than likely tangled up on the ocean floor. A week before, they’d seen some documentary in class about the deep sea. Somehow, the first time Mamoru had cried for Haruto, it was because he’d thought about horrifying fish that were probably keeping him company. He could imagine it all too well, even though not even _that_ was necessarily the truth.

 

Takano asks soft questions. Above all he listens. There’s no pity, no advice. He’s smart, he can probably hear all the places where Mamoru skips a key detail. He probably wonders what’s being concealed, but he lets Mamoru’s bile run its course. 

And then…

And then, miraculously, the conversation branches off from there. First to serious topics, then back to low stakes things that make them chuckle. Mamoru hardly notices the shift, until they’re both laughing about some video on the internet together. It doesn’t feel disrespectful. It definitely doesn’t seem as though Takano brushed him off. 

Moving on is just… the burden and miracle of the living. For a long time, Haruto’s death has been an event fossilized and contained. There’s no moving past it even in spite of (or because of) the absence of it in Kaito’s memory. There’s something revelatory, therefore, about sharing it, commiserating over it, and then moving on. Takano had offered him solace, yes. But he’d also demonstrated that there was more to Mamoru than that tragedy. All the intervening years _had_ happened. Maybe Kaito would join him in the current day’s beauty and pain, too. 

He needs to acknowledge it, somehow. He needs to acknowledge what Takano has done for him.

They’re lying on the futon, barely watching a movie through bleary eyes. 

“Thanks for listening.” Mamoru throws his arm over his face. Suddenly he can’t keep his eyelids open. 

“Are you saying that now because I kept saying similar things all night?” 

It’s like hearing things from deep within a well. Nothing quite lands. Mamoru is determined, though. Certain words need to reach Takano. “I’m thanking you because I mean it.”

Takano probably makes a response, but Mamoru is no longer awake to hear much of anything. He rests more deeply than he has in months. 

*

Mamoru wakes up, shivering and sober. There’s no hangover, and his mouth is only a little dry. Still, he’s like a rag that’s been rung out. The previous night squeezed him dry of some of his worry and strain, and it’s like his body has paid the price. He’s not sore, exactly. He’s not even tired. He’s just sort of alien in his own skin.

The futon is unfamiliar against his back, and the pillow is fluffier than the ones at home. At first, he thinks it’s one of the indiscriminately late night hours. Then he hears the determined chirping of birds, and he realizes it’s the first few minutes of a new day. An invisible clock is counting down. Soon the sun will emerge and everyone will have to examine yesterday’s choices and mistakes in a new light.

He looks to his side and sees Takano’s calves. Mamoru nearly laughs at this. Somehow, when they went to bed, they ended up like this. They’re practically circling each other like koi fish. 

But they’ve been circling each other for a long time, haven’t they?

He carefully picks himself up, and settles down next to Takano so that they’re face-to-face. Maybe he should have waited. He thinks their prior arrangement would have inspired laughter from Takano. That’s something he would like to hear again. However, he also wants to see Takano come alive. 

Last night was hardly a cure. He’s shivering and wishing Takano would wake up and choose to hold Mamoru. Body heat and all that. There’s a vista of time stretched out before him. Days, weeks, months, maybe years. They will be full of difficult work, full of his obligations to Kaito. Mamoru’s melancholy is like a tumor clinging to a ribcage at this point. Sometimes he wishes it had a physical shape, and a smart doctor could excise it.

This morning, though, he stares at Takano’s eyelashes fanning out against his cheeks, and Mamoru notes a new emotion flickering in his heart. A frisson of lust or excitement or both. Either way, it reminds him of his youth. It reminds him that things aren’t over for him yet, either. 

After all, last night he’d said certain things aloud. And they were safe with Takano.

Consciousness seems to seep in to Takano’s features. He takes some time to open his eyes, but he seems to recognize Mamoru’s breathing. It makes him smile. 

“You woke up a while before me, didn’t you?” 

“I made you wait for me at the club yesterday.” Mamoru scoots in, centimeter by centimeter until their knuckles touch. He hopes against hope that Takano will take his hand, but he doesn’t. The spark of anticipation has taken over Mamoru by now. It carries him away much more effectively than all of last night’s alcohol. Even this way- with their skin “accidentally” touching- it’s like he can’t breathe. 

Then Takano briefly brushes he backs of Mamoru’s fingers, and it must be deliberate. Now Mamoru can’t think. Just this small touch, and he remembers what it’s like for things to be good. 

It doesn’t last long enough. Takano sits up, rocking his head from side-to-side, cracking his neck a little. 

“I should get us some breakfast,” he says, stepping out of the futon. He pulls himself to a standing position with such grace that it leaves Mamoru dumbfounded. 

He lies there as he hears water running. Takano is brushing his teeth, first. Then there’s a cupboard opening and closing. Dawn is peaking through the windows, glaring down at Mamoru. Or maybe it’s daring him to do something. He sees a few dust motes dancing in it. They must be settling down on him as he lies here. They’re a reminder _this will be your fate if you continue to choose inaction._ Rust and complacency. 

He joins Takano in the kitchen and, suddenly, he understands that quick retreat for what it was. Fear of rejection. Or maybe anticipating rejection and respecting it. Possibly both. 

“So I have a lot of cereal, and-”

Mamoru strides up to Takano, carefully grabs either side of his face, and kisses him. He’s careful about it, keeping his eyes open, looking for any signs of discomfort. Takano’s are shut, but there’s an open look to his face. First there is surprise, but that quickly gives away to an unnamable emotion somewhere between relief and happiness. 

“Life is too short?” Mamoru offers, after they break away for a few moments. 

First there’s laughter. Then Takano’s arms wrap around Mamoru’s back; one towards the top, one just below his hips. It’s the kind of embrace he’d been longing for earlier. Takano tastes of toothpaste, and it’s like the mint freezes Mamoru’s mouth. But they kiss so well and deep that no cold could withstand it. And Mamoru stops worrying that _he_ possibly tastes like liquor. 

He can’t remember the last time he kissed anyone. He can’t believe it’s possible to like something this much. Unalloyed affection, never waiting for the painful sting, or the ghost tapping your shoulder. 

When they stretch out on the futon, they disregard the clattering of wood slabs beneath them. Mamoru likes exploring beneath Takano’s shirt; the fabric brushing against his knuckles, and the smoothness below his palms. He likes pulling that shirt off, too, and kissing and licking this plane of muscle and skin. 

He likes it even better when he’s also naked from the waist up. They might have their scars, but they hardly register. Everything seems so softened and sharpened all at the same time. They both have calloused hands, and Takano’s touches against Mamoru’s skin remind him of all the parts of his body that are untainted and unblemished. Nice new sensations, nice new sounds, just about everything is new.

“So, uh, I don’t really have lube,” Takano laughs, a bit nervously. Definitely sheepishly. It makes Mamoru chuckle, too. “I could go a block away and get some-”

“No. I don’t want to stop. If you don’t want to stop.” Mamoru hitches a leg around Takano and kisses him even harder. “We can make do.”

“You’re practical. I like that.”

Mamoru reaches his hand into Takano’s boxers and starts stroking him right away. Maybe he should pull the underwear off. He definitely should, actually. But Takano doesn’t seem to mind. He just arches into Mamoru’s hand again and again. He doesn’t say much, but his gasping of Mamoru’s name sounds a hell of a lot like praise.

It was incredible to do so much good for someone, and in such an uncomplicated way. 

His own turn is incredible. Takano ends up kissing his way down Mamoru’s torso. He has to shut his eyes against the sensation of lips and a tongue tracing over his skin. There are so many areas he’s forgotten about. Places no one has touched or seen in a long time. Places that seem solely designed to bring him pleasure. There’s no evolutionary _reason_ for the sides of his abdomen to love a light touch like this. But they do. 

Then he forgets this question entirely, when Takano moves lower still and takes him into his mouth.

Mamoru has to cover his face during this, and it has nothing to do with dislike. He’s much louder than Takano, and he’s moaning into his hands. Every time he does this, he releases a tiny bit of pressure. Through his desire and happiness, he somehow gives voice to the grief almost never expresses. 

It’s probably messed up, marrying heartache and joy like this. But if he ever feels too mixed up, he lets his hands flop down, and he stares down at Takano until their eyes meet. He drowns in what sees there until he thinks he might be fine after all. 

When they’re both done, Mamoru listens to all the inadvertent music of the world around him. The sounds of Takano on the verge of sleep. The neighborhood coming to life outside. He nudges himself closer, and this time Takano folds him into his arms. The right kind of embrace from the right kind of person. It’s warmer than any blanket. 

They doze, and he lets his thoughts scatter like rain hitting the pavement. He wakes to Takano aimlessly tracing his fingers over up and down Mamoru’s arm. There’s an unexpected rhythm to it. He exhales a certain number of seconds until Takano reaches his elbow. He inhales a certain number of seconds until Takano reaches his shoulder. The count remains the same each time. The whole thing makes him a little dizzy and very content. 

“Is this against our contract?” He waves his hand vaguely, over their mostly nude bodies. There’d sure been a lot of fine print, but he thinks he read it all. Suddenly he’s not so sure, though. 

“You mean… sleeping with your coworker?” Takano probably wanted to slip the word ‘a relationship’ in there, judging by the slight hitch in his sentence. Mamoru doesn’t think he’s pining, but he does think Takano is careful to avoid presumptuousness. 

“Yeah.” A long pause. Then he decides to just go for it. “You’d probably be worth getting fired though.” 

Takano’s laughter is more of a guffaw. It rocks Mamoru’s frame a little, so much so that it feels like _he’s_ been laughing. “I don’t know why but that was funny as hell. And, no, we’re fine. It’s discouraged but they don’t stop it.” 

_He’s speaking from personal experience. Interesting._ “Why is that?”

Now Takano has his hands in Mamoru’s hair, and he’s playing with it idly. It’s more of a compliment than if he’d praised it outright. “Happens too much I guess. We all face danger together on the regular, and it leads to some intense bonding. Although, uh, not always. Sometimes we just like someone.” 

That last bit sounds more than a little pointed. Mamoru ends up burying his face in Takano’s chest, and lets the gesture speak on its own. 

“Wait, you thought it was a fire-able offense, and you went for it anyway? I’m flattered.” 

Mamoru does laugh at this. He laughs and laughs until he realizes he needs to kiss Takano. He needs to kiss Takano all day, if he’ll allow it.

There’s been danger in this job, but he doesn’t think his attraction to Takano was sparked by adrenaline. If anything, he feels at ease here. There’s no strong urge to protect Takano and shield him from the world. He knows he doesn’t need Takano’s protection. 

There’s only this; a sort of happiness that doesn’t prod him or poke him. He can’t grab onto it. Instead it soaks into his skin and bleeds into his heart. Even when things get a little intense and he grabs on too tight, he also knows that everything will be fine if he ever lets go.


End file.
